Claw marks in the frozen peas

Sock Cross Contamination

I have this habit where if I take my socks off, I make note of which foot the sock was worn. If I have to put the socks back on, they go on the same foot as before.

Socks Conundrum

I never know what to do with my old socks, it doesn’t feel right throwing them in the trash, and I know of no proper way of recycling them. For the last few years, I’ve been including my socks along with other clothing items I donate to the peeps at Goodwill. I feel awkward donating old socks, so I usually put them at the bottom of the bag, and I’ll place regular items on top to hide my shame. The guy who works at the donation center sorts the items into different piles. I’m sure when he comes across my socks he turns to his imaginary friend Hobo Pete and exclaims, “Get a load of this guy who donated old socks. What are we supposed to do, use them as pot holders or something? He’s craaazy…”

Thought for the Day

I hate it when my socks wear out at the back of the heel, near the Achilles. To be honest, I don’t know how these holes even come about. One day nothing, and the next day something and I’m kind of baffled by this. I’d like to ditch the socks for new ones, but it seems like such a waste because of the rest of these socks are in excellent shape. I wear black socks exclusively, so it’s obvious when you see blackness and then the contrast of a little patch of flesh. My OCD is so strong that I can’t live with the potential that someone might spot my hole-y sock and make an assumption on my character as a whole.

Somewhere in this post lies commentary on existentialism and/or mysticism.